


Listen Closely

by Callmetiny



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Bisexual Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Gay Harley Keener, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, Harley Keener plays guitar, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, Romance, because all good country boys do, healthy relationship!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmetiny/pseuds/Callmetiny
Summary: Peter’s no stranger to ruined surprises—super hearing will do that to you. Whether it’s a party, a trip, a visit, or anything else, Peter’s bound to hear about it long before he’s supposed to, no matter how hard he tries.Now, Harley’s determined to change that.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener & Wanda Maximoff, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 25
Kudos: 238





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was heavily inspired by Bright Eyes’ ["First Day of my Life,"](https://youtu.be/xUBYzpCNQ1I) so I highly recommend you give that a listen if you want to get the vibe I’m going for here :) 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!!

Super hearing ruined a lot of things. It was good if you were in Peter’s particular field—that is, if you were Spider-Man—but on a day-to-day basis, it was most certainly not fun.

Sometimes, things were just too loud. Peter hadn’t gone to a concert since the bite, for one thing. School assemblies were a nightmare to experience. Explosions could be cool and fun (circumstances permitting), but most of the time, they were just grating. Really, any sustained loud noise was enough to give him a pounding headache.

Other times, Peter ended up hearing things he wasn’t meant to hear. Mr. Harrington muttering to himself about quiz answers, Ned and MJ worrying about him, May swearing at her cooking. The list went on and on and on.

But, oh.

That wasn’t even the worst part.

It was pretty much impossible for Peter to be surprised.

Again, it was good when you were Spider-Man on the side, but not so much for the whole ‘being normal’ thing. May planned a surprise birthday party a couple months ago, and even though she’d tried to take the super hearing into account, it’d all been for nothing. He’d heard her talking on the phone with Ned’s mom as she walked down the street towards the apartment, heard Ned and MJ talking about it from across the cafeteria. The day of, he’d heard the balloons in his apartment all the way from the ground floor.

Another scenario: just the week before, Happy was flying Harley up for the week (on promises that Harley would keep up with his school work) in an effort to surprise Peter. They were supposed to have a big moment like you saw in the movies, where they see each other, drop everything, and just _run_ to hug each other. This did not happen—Peter knew Harley was visiting as soon as Happy had started planning it, thanks to some accidental eavesdropping. As such, Peter and Harley’s reunion did not include any dramatic running and hugging. Peter was happy, and they did hug, but it wasn’t a _surprise_. 

So yeah, the super hearing thing kind of sucked sometimes.

This situation was no different.

Peter was staying at the compound over the weekend—mostly because Harley was there, seeing the compound for the first time. 

If Peter was being honest, he was pretty sure Mr. Stark was using Harley as an excuse to go upstate for the weekend. But what did it matter? Peter was there, Harley was there, they were all there nonetheless.

But at that particular moment, Peter and Harley were working in the labs alone, Peter writing a lab report for Chem while Harley fiddled with a chunk of machinery.

The lab report didn’t take up too much of Peter’s attention. The lab was one he’d done before, one that pretty much everybody had done before. It was almost _mindless_ , the way his fingers typed along to his muscle memory. So, naturally, his mind was wandering off a bit, his oh-so-helpful super hearing trying to find something more interesting to focus on. 

But, weirdly enough, it was pretty quiet. Upstairs, Clint was telling Wanda a story. In the dining room, Mr. Stark was helping Morgan with her math homework. Sam and Bucky were bickering as they sparred in the training room, but that was nothing new. As far as the compound went, it was as quiet as it got. 

As such, Peter pulled his attention back to the lab around him, to Harley.

Harley mumbled a lot when he worked. Whenever he was thinking particularly hard, he would just open his mouth and start thinking about it out loud, usually not even realizing it until someone brought it up. It tended to spook Mr. Stark, who always thought Harley was talking _to_ someone and not just mindlessly blabbing, but Peter quite liked it. It was soft and soothing, a nice break from the constant mechanical hum that was the lab.

Harley was mumbling just then, his hands moving on their own while his mind wandered.

“…the rain? Was it rain?” Harley paused in his work, stopping to think. “Should look it up.” He put his tools down, wiping his hands on his shirt, and whipped a little notepad out, scribbling something before shoving it back in his pocket. “…in the… rain. Sounds right. Should be on E… 7? E7… E9? No, not 9.”

As he mumbled, he picked up a screwdriver and fiddled, worrying it between his fingers. He made quite a picture, sitting hunched over the desk with grease on his shirt, muttering nonsense with a random chunk of machinery plopped in front of him. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in the back.

He spun the screwdriver one more time, giving himself the smallest little nod, before looking up and around the room. His eyes landed on Peter. He stared back.

Peter hadn’t realized he was staring.

“See something you like?” Harley asked, smiling as he slid the screwdriver onto the desk. When Peter didn’t respond, his smile dropped, turning concerned. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, no,” Peter said, snapping back to his senses. “I just, uh, like hearing you work. You mumble.” 

Something strange crossed Harley’s face, before the smile was back and better than ever. “You don’t mind?”

“It’s cute.” Peter couldn’t believe he was admitting it—there was always the possibility that Harley would mock him for it (in good faith, of course).

But here, Harley did no such thing. Instead, he just picked the screwdriver up again, smiling wider than before. “You sap.”

“I’m _your_ sap,” Peter said.

The smile grew, and Peter’s heart just about melted. “You got that right.”

They both went back to their work, Harley carrying on with his mumbling and Peter working through his Chem, both of them just basking in each other’s company. It was nice and peaceful.

Peter did wonder, though: what had Harley been mumbling about?

______________

That question lingered in the back of his head for the rest of the day. It lingered as they wrapped up their lab time and went up to eat dinner, as they settled in on the couch afterwards, Harley scribbling in a notebook while Peter read a book for Spanish— _Como Agua Para Chocolate_. It, unlike his Chem, required a lot of thinking.

As such, Peter wasn’t really paying attention as Harley doodled. He just let his head lay in Harley’s lap, the book held over his stomach as he tried (and failed) to understand what was going on.

“…D7? Maybe?”

Harley was mumbling again, quieter this time, as they lay there. Really, his voice was barely more than a whisper, just audible over the din of Mr. Stark cleaning the kitchen, but again: super hearing.

Peter was tired of the book. He didn’t want to read it, even though he knew he needed to before the weekend was up. Desperate for something to distract him, he listened in as Harley muttered, curious about what he was doing.

“D7… kinda makes sense?”

“What’s a D7?” Peter asked, putting the book down on his chest.

Harley looked down at him. Instead of answering, he put his notebook and pen down on the side of the couch, running his hands through Peter’s hair. “Is it bothering you?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t understand this anyway,” he said, gesturing to the book.

A laugh. Still, Harley kept carding his fingers through Peter’s hair, his fingers gentle as they tugged through the occasional knot. Occasionally, a finger would brush by Peter’s ear or along his forehead or against the line of his chin. It was simple, but he smiled, enjoying the soft sweep along his skin.

Wait.

Soft sweep?

He frowned, confused for a second.

Harley’s hands weren’t soft, now that he realized it. Gentle, but not soft.

Peter looked up, trying to get a good glance at Harley’s hands. It was impossible from that angle, what with his hands in Peter’s hair, and so, slowly, Peter took one of Harley’s hands in his.

“Whatcha doing?” Harley asked, stopping his petting as Peter examined his hand.

Peter didn’t answer, instead squinting at Harley’s hand. It was smooth but rough, covered in calluses worn down through years of use. On the tips of his fingers, the calluses were thicker and rougher, cracked and dry in some spots.

Though part of Peter had forgotten that calluses were supposed to exist (his super healing kept him from building them), it wasn’t like he thought Harley’s hands would be buttery smooth—calluses were to be expected on the hands of a mechanic. But Harley’s fingertips were especially rough.

“Your fingertips,” Peter said, running a finger over the toughened skin. “They’re all rough.”

“My whole hand’s rough, darling.”

“But they’re rougher than the rest.”

Harley shrugged. “Part of the trade. I don’t pay much attention to them,” he said, tugging his hand away and planting it back in Peter’s hair. “Get back to your book already, I know it’s due Monday.”

“No it’s not,” Peter tried, grabbing at Harley’s hand again.

“ _Yes_ , it is,” Harley said. He batted Peter’s hand away, putting his own back in Peter’s hair and once again running his hands through it. “Don’t try to fool me.”

Peter laughed but complied anyway, opening the book back up and trying to refocus on the words on the page. Harley went on petting him, his hands still brushing up against his skin every now and then.

They went on like that, sitting in comfortable silence, for a while.

It was relaxing. 

_Really_ relaxing. 

As much as Peter tried to read, he was hardly processing any of the words on the page, more focused on the feeling of Harley’s hands as they kept on carding through his hair.

And, before he knew what was happening, he was dozing off.

The book fell flat on his chest as his eyes fell closed. He forgot about Harley’s odd mumbling, about the weird calluses on his fingertips, and just basked in the feeling of Harley around him, the hands in his hair.

_____________

When Peter woke up, Harley was gone. No more hands in his hair, no more warmth under his head—just _Como Agua Para Chocolate_ and an empty living room. The lingering smell of the night’s dinner was gone, the ceiling fan spinning fast overhead, while a lamp next to his head glowed softly. Outside, the sky was nothing more than a handful of stars and a full moon, the compound shrouded in darkness. 

It was late; 11:48 pm, according to the clock on the microwave. Quiet, too. Not quite silent—no, even in the quiet of the night, the compound was never truly silent. Mr. Stark was in his bedroom down the hall, watching a movie and chatting with Pepper about the problems with the imaginary tech. Upstairs in the Avenger’s common room, he could make out Clint’s voice, complaining about having to wake up early the next morning. Whoever Clint was talking to wasn’t really paying attention, just grunting approval at each complaint.

But none of those people were Harley. That was who Peter was looking for, really—if only because, after a quick sweep of the labs, he was nowhere to be found. Not on the Avengers’ floor, not on this floor, not in the labs just below. Where was he?

Peter closed his eyes, trying to sort through the sounds. It was a little difficult with the thick metal walls of the compound, but not quite impossible. Eventually, he picked up on the familiar grumble of Harley’s voice in the breezeway.

He was asking a question—something Peter couldn’t quite make out. Quietly, faintly, there was also the sound of music. Someone’s voice, Wanda’s, low and gentle as she responded.

Wanda played guitar, he remembered. It wasn’t something she pointed out that often, preferring to just play for herself most of the time, but it explained the music he supposed.

The music stopped, and Harley’s voice was there alone. Peter, listening hard, could just barely make out the words.

“…you think it’s D7?” Harley asked. “It’s been giving me trouble.”

A pause. Peter could hear a guitar strum.

“Might be,” Wanda responded. Another strum of the guitar followed, this one slightly different. A third came not soon after, back to the sound of the first. 

“Sounds better,” Harley said. 

“It makes more sense.”

They were chatting about music, Peter was pretty sure. It certainly helped explain the “D7” from earlier—it was a music thing. Harley was asking Wanda about whatever it was.

 _Why_ he was asking about music was a different story. But for now, Peter really figured he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on them if he could help it, which in this case, he could. They were out in the breezeway, alone as far as he could tell. Listening in felt like an intrusion.

So, instead of straining his ears any longer, he just picked himself up off the couch. A quick fold of the blanket and click of the lamp, and he was off in the direction of his and Harley’s bedroom.

Whatever that music thing was, it didn’t really matter for now. He was too groggy to give it much thought; thinking comprehensively was out of the question.

It was time to go back to sleep anyway.

________________

When Peter woke up, Harley was in bed beside him—or rather, Harley was half on top of him. His arms and legs were splayed about, his head nestled against Peter’s neck, while the blankets lay atop the both of them, surprisingly unscathed. 

This situation wasn’t unexpected—Harley was a very active sleeper, and Peter didn’t mind being a pillow.

Right now, though, Peter was wide awake. It was just after 5:30am, which was way too early to be getting up, but he was wide awake, right on the edge of _too hot_ , and ready to just get up already. 

And so, gently, he tried to tug himself out from under the tangle of Harley—starting with his arm, which was buried under Harley’s head.

Things went awry pretty quickly.

“Hmm?”

Very quickly.

“Peter?” Harley asked, looking up at Peter.

“Go back to sleep, Harls,” Peter tried, frozen in place. All he could do was sit there, watching as Harley fought to keep his eyes open, until, inch by inch, they fluttered shut, until Peter was left just as he was before: underneath a sleeping Harley.

He shifted again, trying once more to solve this whole situation, only for Harley to reach a hand out and try to stop him. Faker had pretended to be asleep just long enough for Peter to try again.

“You’re warm,” Harley tugged at Peter’s shoulder, his rough hands a gentle scrape against his skin.

Peter slid away from Harley until he was just out of reach, Harley’s arm flopping to the mattress without a Peter there to support it. Still, Harley kept trying to grab at Peter, half asleep but trying with all his might to keep his heater around a little longer. 

But by then, Peter was on the opposite side of the bed, far from Harley’s grasp.

“Peter,” Harley whined, still groping for him. “Come back.”

Peter turned back to Harley. He just wanted to examine what was happening behind him—that is, Harley stretched out on the bed, limbs flopped all over the place as one arm stretched across towards Peter. His hair stuck up in the back, his eyes struggled to stay open, and yet there was a smile on his face as he sat there and whined for Peter.

“ _Please_ ,” he tried, meeting Peter’s eyes. He was trying to turn Peter’s own puppy dog eyes against him.

It was in vain.

Peter reached forward, taking Harley’s hand in his. “Maybe some other time,” he said. 

“But I’m so _cold_.”

“You’ll manage.”

And with that, he rubbed his thumb over Harley’s hand, trying to offer some comfort for the catastrophic loss that Harley seemed to be going through, smiling wider as Harley fought another whine.

“But _Peter_ -”

Before Harley could finish his complaint, Peter noticed something on Harley’s arm. Blue ink, smeared as though someone had tried to wash it off, the color smudged across his skin.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the markings.

Harley blinked hard, trying his hardest to focus his sleep-dazed mind. “Some notes.”

“Notes?” Peter pulled Harley’s arm closer, but he couldn’t make out the words. It looked like chemistry in his opinion, with all the capital letters and smeared symbols in between. “For what, Chemistry?”

Harley pulled his arm away, squinting at the smeared letters. They were hardly legible even to his eyes, it seemed. 

As he stared, he seemed to get a bit more lucid—for a moment, a confused look passed over his face, but then recognition was there in its place. It was an interesting picture, if not a bit odd in Peter’s opinion.

“Oh no, that’s…” Harley blinked hard again. “That’s nothin’.”

“What?” Peter asked.

Harley smiled, pulling his arm away to tuck the notes out of Peter’s sight. “Just reminders, darling. Nothing important,” he said. 

Peter, not really knowing why, found himself feeling suspicious. He wasn’t normally one to get suspicious with Harley, but there was something about the way Harley reacted—the way he’d tugged his arm away, the way he’d spoken, the way he’d brushed it off—that felt _off_ to Peter. If there was one thing Peter was good at, it was knowing when Harley was out of sorts.

“Are you sure?” he tried, pushing just a little bit.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harley said. “Now, either stay and keep me warm, or leave already. It’s too early to be awake.”

Still suspicious, Peter smiled back as best as he could. “Alright, alright,” he said, sliding away from Harley and out from under the covers. He pulled a shirt over his head, turning back to look at the bed. “You’re a grump, you know.”

Harley snuggled deeper into the covers, clutching at a pillow in place of Peter. “I’m _your_ grump.”

Peter silenced him with a quick kiss on the forehead. Harley groaned, trying to swat Peter away so he could get back to sleep, but Peter’s Spidey Sense was nothing if not helpful. Harley didn’t stand a chance.

Placing a second kiss on his forehead, a vengeful kiss really, Peter finally left the room. 

And with that, he’d pretty much forgotten about Harley’s odd behavior.

For now, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol this was intended to be short but it got to be 7k words, so I divided it in two!! The next part will be up in a couple days :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol "a couple of days," as if I can reliably upload anything :P Hope you enjoy anyways!!!!

Really, Harley didn’t just mutter—he hummed, too. 

It was usually barely audible, a couple of notes here and there that didn’t really seem to connect, but again: super hearing. If anyone was going to hear it and connect it all together, it would be Peter.

As such, just a couple hours later, Peter caught Harley humming a tune as he ate breakfast. Harley was just sitting there at the kitchen island, a half-empty bowl of cereal plopped in front of him, humming in between the spoonfuls—a feat Peter hadn’t thought possible, and yet there Harley was, pulling it off. Every so often, his eyes would crease as he fought to remember what came next, swirling his spoon around the bowl as he did it.

Whatever it was that Harley was humming, it sounded weirdly familiar. Not so much that Peter could recognize it out of the blue, but still familiar, like the words were sitting somewhere in the back of Peter’s brain, heard long ago.

Naturally, Peter was curious. And, of course, he wasn’t going to pass up on the opportunity to chat with Harley.

So he propped himself up on the other side of the counter, leaning his elbows on the cold granite, and asked, “What’s that song?”

It took a moment, but eventually Harley looked up. “One of Abbie’s songs, I think,” he said, still slightly distracted with the cereal in his bowl. “Not really sure what it’s called.”

“Oh.” Peter wasn’t quite sure what else there was to say.

And then, rather abruptly, Harley stopped humming. 

It was oddly quiet after that—Harley sitting there, tense, as Peter wondered what in the world was going on.

Weird.

They were almost never quiet like this. There were pretty much never, _ever_ moments like this, where Peter didn’t know what to say and the silence dragged out between them. Well, maybe sometimes—they couldn’t just be happy and smiley and bantering all the time. They got tired and cranky and sad, and sometimes their usual conversation just wasn’t enough. But when those moments happened, Peter could almost always understand _why_ they were happening. Harley was pretty much an open book, as was Peter himself, and there was no changing that.

Here though? Peter had no idea what was going on. Harley was being quiet and tense and closed off, and Peter didn’t know why.

And so now, all the little cues, the things Peter hadn’t really given much attention in the moment, had piled up in his brain. The muttering in the lab, the way Harley had brushed off the comments on his hands, the shift in his voice when Peter noticed the pen on his arm: it was all weird. It put Peter’s brain on overdrive, had him running through everything trying to figure out what was going on.

“I like it when you hum, you know,” he tried, leaning further over the counter. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Harley shrugged. “Should probably stop humming it anyway. Can’t have her ruining my taste in music, can I?” He tried on a smile, but it fell flat, making the air even tenser than it was before.

Peter had no idea what to say to that. So, again, he just said “oh,” again and tried to change the topic. Just keep trying different topics, try to get Harley to respond to _something_ so he could figure out what in the world was going on. 

“Do you want to go for a hike later?” As he spoke, he picked at a hangnail on the side of his thumb—a nervous tick kicking in. “Mr. Stark’s going to show us the falls, it’s supposed to be fun.” 

“Sorry, darling. I gotta help Wanda with something,” Harley said. “Another time?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure, sure.” Peter’s hand gave up on the hangnail, migrating to the edge of his shirt. He tried, yet again, to think of something else to say.

Harley’s eyes watched his hands move. “Are you okay?” he asked, all the tenseness dissipating just like that. Suddenly, his full attention was on Peter, the conversation coming again as Harley gave Peter something to work with.

Peter floundered, a bit surprised. “What?”

“You seem upset,” Harley said, his voice going tender.

“I thought _you_ were upset,” Peter said. It felt stupid, saying it out loud, but he couldn’t help it.

“You did?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “ _Are_ you?”

“Nah, just thinking.” Harley smiled.

“About what?”

His smile just grew bigger, turning almost wicked. “ _That_ -” he said, gesturing at Peter with his spoon, “-is a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “I’m surprising you.”

Peter frowned. Could you blame him? He didn’t really _do_ surprises anymore.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” he said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t do anything stupid,” Harley said. “I even ran it by the old man, it’s totally safe.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t- I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“Ruin it for _me_? You’re the one being surprised.”

“It’s really hard to surprise me. Super hearing and all that.”

Harley smiled. “Don’t you worry, I got it all handled. Trust me on this,” he said. “If there’s anyone I know how to surprise, it’s you, darling.”

Peter nodded, his own smile just barely there in the corners of his cheeks. “I trust you.”

“Good, cause in my opinion, you’re gonna love it.”

“And your opinion is always right.”

“Exactly,” Harley said. And with that, he took the break in the conversation to check his watch, chugging the leftover milk in his cereal bowl and getting up from the table. “For now: I got stuff to do. See you later?”

Peter’s smile just got wider, pulling Harley into a quick hug. “See you later.”

And with that, alongside a short kiss on the cheek, Harley was pulling away. “Make sure the old man doesn’t break anything, hear me?” he called. “And make sure he doesn’t get lost. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know where the falls are.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. “My sense of direction’s worse than Mr. Stark’s, you know.”

“Please tell me someone else is going with you two.”

“Mrs. Potts is coming.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Harley breathed out a sigh of relief. “Don’t drive her crazy.”

Peter nodded, turning to leave. “Don’t plan on it.”

“And Peter?” Harley asked.

Peter turned back to look at him.

“I love you, you know.”

All Peter could do was gape, as Harley turned and left. The room fell back into silence.

____________

When Peter got back from the hike, he was damp and exhausted. Turns out, hiking and fighting crime worked very different muscles, especially if you kept tripping and falling while you were at it. It didn’t help that Mr. Stark had been determined to speed walk through the slippery riverbeds towards the falls. 

Yeah, so Peter had fallen quite a bit. He was fine with it, really, just sore and _tired_. 

Surprisingly, Morgan had fallen the least.

Also surprisingly, Mrs. Potts had an awful sense of balance.

They’d almost gotten lost a couple of times. Unsurprisingly. Sure, most of the hike was one direction, but still, they’d managed to get turned around every other step. Mrs. Potts was simply not enough to keep the rest of them in check when it came to directions.

Peter walked into the living room sometime that afternoon dying of thirst, wanting nothing more than to stuff his face and collapse onto the couch for a nap. But alas, napping was not possible without snuggling.

And so once again he found himself asking: where was Harley?

A quick listen through the compound, and Peter found him. He was in Wanda’s room, chatting about something. Unlike when they were in the breezeway, it wasn’t difficult to make out what they were saying.

But wait. 

Bad Peter. No eavesdropping today.

“…like this?” Harley asked, followed by the sound of-

Nope, nope, nope.

Peter cut it off by turning on the TV. There was an infomercial on, and yet he sat there, cranking the volume up to drown out the sound of Harley doing whatever he was doing with Wanda. He could nap just fine on his own.

Trust Harley’s surprising skills, don’t eavesdrop—the two things worked naturally together, and yet they were both drastically different in terms of difficulty. There was also that thing where the harder you tried to ignore something, the harder it was to actually ignore it. Like when you focused on your breathing and forgot how to breathe, almost.

In essence, trying not to eavesdrop on what sounded like a normal conversation just below him was not working. In fact, it was doing the exact opposite of working.

Peter changed tactics.

That was how, not too long after, he found himself sparring with Sam in the training room. The training room was far away, not quite out of listening range from Harley and Wanda, but still far enough that he’d have to strain if he did want to eavesdrop. Again, the thick metal walls blocked a lot of it out.

“Peter?”

Or maybe it wasn’t working. There it was, Harley’s voice ringing out in his head. Peter kept going, throwing another punch in Sam’s direction—Sam ducked with a bark of a laugh, coming around back at Peter to just barely avoid hitting him in the shoulder. Peter slipped out of the way.

“Hey, are you two just gonna ignore me?”

Peter swung back, hard and fast.

Sam dodged again. “Peter, I think your boyfriend wants you.”

“What?” Peter looked away from Sam, his eyes landing on Harley standing in the doorway. “Oh, hey Harley.”

Harley opened his mouth to respond, but it was drowned out by Peter’s Spidey Sense—Sam, trying for a cheap shot. Peter dodged with a simple duck, grabbing Sam’s arm to send him rolling onto the floor. Sam landed with a dull _thump_ on the mat.

“No fair!” he complained, struggling to catch his breath. Maybe Peter had thrown him a little too hard, hard enough to knock the wind out of him, but in his defense: Harley was there.

Peter’s expression turned guilty. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Yeah yeah kid, you’re free to go,” Sam interrupted. He made no move to get up, just lay there with a grumpy look on his face as Peter stuck out a hand to help him.

“C’mon darling, I don’t have all day. Deal with birdbrain later,” Harley pushed, smiling. “It’s time for dinner.”

“It is?” Peter checked his watch. He hadn’t even realized it, but it’d been about two hours since he’d started training, twenty minutes since he and Sam had started sparring. That explained a lot, actually—especially as Sam laid there, covered in sweat, on the mat.

With one last effort, Peter pulled Sam upright against his will. Sam grumbled about it, but by then, Peter had already made his way over to Harley, ready to be whisked away.

Harley winked at Sam over Peter’s shoulder, and then they were on their way.

_____________

Dinner was easy. Conversation flowed between the five of them as Peter shared the tale of the death march through the woods with Harley, who rolled his eyes as Mr. Stark tried to object. Not long into it, Mrs. Potts joined in, Morgan leaping to her defense (well, as much as a six-year-old could). It was peaceful, normal. Harley was next to him, the two of them being overly obnoxious just to provoke Mr. Stark’s objections.

It was, again, easy.

Afterwards, Peter lingered as Harley did the dishes—it was his turn, apparently, and Peter wasn’t allowed to help. In Harley’s words, he’d “just do all the work because you feel bad.” It was probably true, but still, Peter objected.

Harley was still washing as Mrs. Potts finished cleaning up dinner, wrapping up with a kiss on the forehead for both of them and a call for Morgan to play outside.

And just like that, Peter and Harley were alone once again.

“You know,” Harley said, “you didn’t have to make him squirm _that_ much.”

Him being Mr. Stark, who had, indeed, squirmed at every mention of physical contact between the two of them. For fifteen minutes, he’d struggled not to excuse himself from the table.

“He deserved it,” Peter said.

A laugh. “Yeah, he kind of did.” Harley put the last dish on the drying rack with a clank. “Next time, I’ll ‘spill’ water in your lap.”

“I think he’d explode.”

“It’s good for him,” Harley said, turning back to face Peter as he wiped his wet hands on his jeans.

Peter couldn’t help but watch.

“My eyes are up here, darling.”

“I know,” Peter said, looking back up.

Somehow, that spurred Harley into action. “Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “C’mon, I got something to show you.” He reached for Peter’s hand. 

Peter took it, letting Harley pull him down the hall. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is it _the_ surprise?”

“Maybe.” Harley shrugged innocently. 

Peter couldn’t help but smile, cutting his thoughts off as Harley led him off down the hall. He focused on the warmth of Harley’s hand in his, the way Harley’s cheeks were just a little bit pink with excitement, the tenderness in his eyes—all of it was just enough to pull Peter in and make him never want to let go. It kept Peter’s wandering thoughts away—instead of wondering about the surprise, he was just going along with it, watching Harley as they went on full steam ahead.

“We do have to make a pit stop, though,” Harley said, stopping suddenly in front of a doorway. Their bedroom doorway, Peter realized.

Or rather: he almost realized.

He was in the process of realizing.

Something like that.

Nevertheless, he didn’t get a chance to finish this thought because, like he said, Harley stopped _suddenly_. Peter went tumbling right on into Harley, almost toppling to the floor. A victim of his own momentum.

But then, Harley’s hands were around him—catching him, pulling him upright.

“You that eager, darling?” Harley asked, laughing at Peter’s clumsiness.

Peter couldn’t help his smile. “Maybe.”

“Just- gimme one sec.” He darted into the room, re-emerging with something in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“We’re blocking you out,” Harley explained. “Wouldn’t want you spoiling the surprise for yourself.”

Peter just stared, not sure what to make of it. _What_?

Harley held up the stuff in his hands: Peter’s special noise-cancelling headphones and a thick, fabric sleep mask. “Headphones and a blindfold,” he said, holding them out for Peter. “I promise you, it’s not kinky.”

“W-what?” Peter’s face went red—he hadn’t even thought of it that way.

Harley just smiled wider, and, when Peter didn’t move to take the headphones—he was kind of stuck there in shock, not sure what to do about it—he leaned forward. “Here, lemme just-” he started, cutting himself off when he slipped the sleep mask over Peter’s eyes. It was definitely made just for Peter, as not a single bit of light peeked through. “And then we just-” Harley again cut himself off, putting the headphones soundly over Peter’s ears. All of a sudden, the world went quiet.

Peter nodded his thanks, but the confusion still didn’t ease. “Still won’t tell me where we’re going?” he asked.

He didn’t know what Harley said, but it didn’t matter. As soon as everything was in order, Harley just went on with his plan as it was before, tugging Peter along down the hallway.

_____________

The thing about super hearing, as acknowledged before, was that it ruined a lot of things. A _lot_ of things.

But.

It could only ruin things that Peter could _hear_. If there were parts of the picture that Peter’s super hearing could not inform him of, then the surprise as a whole could not be ruined (circumstances permitting, of course).

It was funny, really, that Harley figured that part out before Peter himself.

Because, in hindsight, it was obvious what Harley had planned. Really, _really_ obvious. But Peter had never been given all the pieces of the puzzle, had never had the chance to fully connect the dots—he’d heard of the dots, but he didn’t get to see them.

If anything, Peter’s super hearing had thrown him off. Even with extra information at his fingertips, such as the notes scrawled on Harley’s arms, he didn’t quite get it.

He knew, as Harley led him along, that they were going somewhere outside—he could feel the temperature change on his skin, the slight breeze in his hair as Harley pulled him through a doorway.

Which was a little not good. Peter knew the grounds of the compound like the back of his hand. The countless training exercises, leisurely afternoons, and late nights had ingrained its map in his brain. It was second nature, almost, for him to visualize their path as they wound their way across the grass.

So he noped out of that.

Instead, there was the feeling of Harley’s palm against his. So warm and rough, the callouses just a little bit rougher along his fingertips. Sound, their fingers intertwined and familiar. As they went down and down and down a hill, Peter desperately tried not to imagine the path down the grounds and through the woods down to the pond where there was- _nope_. Instead, he just let Harley guide him.

And when Harley stopped, Peter didn’t fall into him this time. He stood there feeling rather disoriented waiting for Harley to do something.

For a while, nothing happened.

Peter just stood there, wondering if he was supposed to be taking the headphones and the blindfold off himself. “Are we here?” he asked, very confused.

And then, Harley’s hands were close. They brushed against his ears and mussed with his hair, fumbling with the headphones over his ears.

“-forgot you couldn’t hear me,” Harley said, chuckling. “One sec, lemme just-” He stopped to untie the blindfold.

And then, it was falling from Peter’s eyes.

And Peter was hit with the realization that he _hadn’t figured it out._ It was an actual _surprise_. Harley had surprised him.

And Peter couldn’t be more grateful.

It was worth it to see the smile on Harley’s face. It was worth it to feel his own surprise as Harley stood there in the moonlight, a guitar in his hands.

It was worth it, when he realized just what Harley was doing.

Peter gaped, not unlike a fish. “You know-”

“-how to play guitar?” Harley finished. He strummed a couple quick chords, smiling wider and wider as he watched Peter’s expression. “Maybe.”

“And you, you’re going to…”

“I am simply going to play my beloved a song.”

Still, Peter’s mouth hung open. Harley, who he’d known for so long, played guitar. And Peter had _never_ known it? And he’d managed to not only practice a song but get all of this ready without Peter noticing?

Or, wait. Peter had noticed. He’d been suspicious for a while now, ever since he’d heard Harley mumbling in the labs the other day.

Slowly, it all seemed to click.

“You… you, with Wanda,” he said.

Harley shrugged. “Wanda’s got chops.”

“And it was _you_?”

“You heard me?”

“I thought _she_ was playing!”

Harley laughed, loud and bright. “Exactly.”

“And all those, those notes- the notes on your arm-”

“-were chords. Guitar chords to be exact. My memory’s pretty shit sometimes,” he said, a little bashful.

Still, Peter just stood there, surprised. Harley had done _all_ of that. He’d managed to learn this song and plan all of this out just so Peter would be surprised, took extra care to hide it but still made sure Peter felt okay about it. It was amazing. Harley hadn’t even started playing, and yet, Peter’s heart soared.

“Harley, you- you did all this?”

Harley nodded.

“For _me_?”

“Wasn’t for Sam, I can tell you that for sure.”

Something about that seemed to break Peter out of his stupor. It just seemed to _click_ , all at once.

And then, Harley was in his arms. The guitar hung between them, but Peter didn’t care, he just pushed it to the side with a gentle hand, desperate to close the gap between them. He threw his arms around Harley’s neck, up on his tippy-toes to reach, pulling him into a hug—a hug that, in a split second, turned into a kiss.

And then they were kissing there, breathless, as the moonlight shone down on their faces. Peter could hear the sounds of nature around him, could feel the cool air on his cheeks, could see the pond glimmering just past Harley head—but he blocked it out. Who needed all that when he had Harley right there in front of him? He focused everything on right then and there, on Harley, on the feeling of him so close, in Peter’s arms. How warm Harley was, how his hands were rough on Peter’s skin, how the smell of the cool air and shampoo seemed to linger about him, how the humid air made his skin damp—all of it, all of _Harley_ , there in his arms.

Until, finally, they pulled apart.

And Harley was there, wrapped up in Peter, his lips separated and his cheeks pink. “Now,” he said, smiling, “you ready to hear me play?”

Peter couldn’t help it—he smiled right back. “I’d love to,” he said.

And, with that, Harley was pulling away. Again, he took one of Peter’s hands in his, his palm just as rough and gentle and loving as it was before, and he led Peter along, stopping to sit right on the edge of the short pier. They settled practically on top of each other, the guitar in Harley’s lap as Peter leaned against his shoulder.

And with that, Harley played.

It was beautiful, it was gentle, it was soft and vulnerable, and most of all, it was _love. Love_ , Harley’s love, surrounding Peter as he sat there and listened.

It was unlike anything he’d ever heard, anything he’d ever felt. He’d never had tender lyrics sung about him, had never leaned on someone as they strummed along to it, had never had a surprise that was so caring, so full of love.

Because that’s what Peter felt. Love.

He loved Harley. Harley loved him. It was love that was between them.

The song ended too soon, but by then, Peter’s eyes were almost closed. He was exhausted—waking up early, the hike with Mr. Stark, sparring with Sam, and now, the walk down to the pond, Harley leading him along. The fatigue seemed to settle into his bones, stilling as Harley played.

It was peaceful. 

And, as Harley played the last chord, the last lyrics softened on the breeze, Peter’s eyes fell closed.

But before he could fall asleep, he mumbled out four short words.

“I love you, Harley,” he said.

It took a moment for Harley to respond. It seemed Peter had surprised him too, that night. 

But, if anything, that just made it even more special as Harley muttered back, barely audible over the sounds of the night around them:

“I love you too, Peter.”

It echoed in Peter’s ears as he fell asleep.

He didn’t know if he’d ever been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!!! It always blows me away that people read the stuff I write :)


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